Martina Cole - The Family

'You all right, Mum?'

Timmy was watching Christine from across the room. She looked spaced as usual, but he knew she wasn't on anything, she was just like Dilly Daydream, staring into space.

'I'm fine. Why aren't you at the airport with the others?'

He grinned. 'What, meeting up with the conquering hero? He's been on honeymoon, Mum, not a fucking tour of Iraq.'

He was good, she couldn't deny that. His words sounded like a joke, but she heard the underlying meaning. She watched him warily again, he was fascinating to her these days. She loved him – he was still her son, and for that she would always have some feeling for him – but it was not like before. It could never be the same again.

She glanced away from him, and saw him looking her up and down carefully in the huge antique mirror over the fireplace. Before she could stop herself she said innocently, 'Seen anything of Graham Planter lately?'

As she spoke she turned in the chair and looked him directly in the face. His pupils widened and for a few seconds his eyes were almost black. She knew that she had frightened him and she grew braver with the sensation.

'What makes you ask that?' He had recovered his composure now, but she knew he was rattled.

'I just wondered. It's funny, son, but he was never your friend. Then your dad said he saw you and him at the wedding, up by the big barn. That's where your father keeps those guns, ain't it? That Jamal delivers them. Contrary to popular belief, I see a lot more than any of you have ever given me credit for. Oh, and tell Graham I liked his hat that night at the club – nearly didn't recognise him in it.'

They were looking deep into each other's eyes now, and she could see a small tic pulsing at the side of Timmy's right eye. That she had rattled him, she had no doubt; she couldn't have made it any plainer. He knew she knew all right, he was just deciding what to do about it. It was like watching Phillip at work, it was almost uncanny. Her son had inherited his father's complete disregard for human life.

'Are you trying to tell me something, Mum?'

She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. 'Such as? What are you on about?'

'Well, that's what I'm asking you, ain't it?'

She sighed heavily, as if all this was well over her head, and she had no idea what he might mean. 'You are a bit odd today, Timmy. Been missing your brother I expect.' She smiled as easily as she could manage with the trembling that was now threatening to take over her whole body. But she was nearly there, and she knew she had to act as if she wasn't scared of her child in the least. 'He's home tonight. Oh, and they're staying here, by the way, not at the flat. Me and Finoula are going to look over the house tomorrow.'

He nodded as if in agreement with her, but he knew she was warning him that she would be watching him. Watching out for Philly.

'I've cooked them a lovely coq au vin, used a real cockerel. There's enough for you, if you've still got some appetite after my little bombshell.'

Christine had to make him think she wasn't afraid of him.

But it was hard, so hard. Still he didn't say a word, and as she looked at him she recalled what he was like as a kid; he could go quiet for days, and they had all laughed, and said he was deep. Deep, yeah, but also dangerous. If only we could have a glimpse of the future when our kids were small how much easier life would be.

She took a deep breath before asking quietly, 'Can I say something to you, just between us, like, Timmy?'

He nodded, she could see he was more than eager to hear exactly what she had to say for herself. 'Fire away, Mum. I've always got time for you.' The sarcasm was there, along with the pun, and the smile that went with it said it was meant as a threat. He was trying to intimidate her, and the knowledge didn't frighten her, it just made her more determined to tell him what she wanted to tell him. She stood up and poured herself a large brandy and, after knocking it back swiftly, she poured herself another one.

'Don't I get one, Mum? Or are you drinking alone as usual? Good at that, aren't you? But then you've done enough of it, I suppose.'

She didn't answer him. She just carried on with what she was doing, gathering her courage as best she could before it failed her altogether. Then, walking to where he was standing, just inside the huge picture windows, she stopped right in front of him. Looking into his face she said seriously, 'If anything happens to my Philly, I will hold you personally responsible. If he breaks a nail climbing out of his car, I will assume it had something to do with you. If he fucking so much as catches the flu, I will blame you, and if he ever gets shot at again, I will blow your fucking world so far into orbit, you'll be thumbing a lift from the Hubble Telescope to get back down to earth. Do you understand what I am telling you, Timmy?'

He didn't even flinch at her words, but she could tell he was worried, and wondering how to get out of this without anyone else finding out the score.

Timmy scoffed at her, 'Like anyone would listen to you\ You're a drunk, Mum.'

She could feel the heat enveloping her body, and she knew he could smell her fear.

'You're a joke to everyone in this family, Mum, especially your Philly. No one would give your story a second's credence.'

'I'll be watching you, boy.'

He grinned then and, pushing his face close to hers, said quietly, 'And I'll be watching you , Mum. Keep that in mind, won't you?'

Before she could answer him, the door crashed open and Philly's voice was booming out. 'Hello, Mum, the wanderers have returned!'

Timmy pushed her gently out of his path, sidelining her and, holding out his arms, he said to his brother, all smiles and familial affection, 'Fuck me, look at you, bruv, brown as a berry! And where's the lovely Mrs Murphy? Don't tell me she's fucking left you already.'

As Finoula came into the room, Christine said her hellos and then, using the excuse of needing to check the dinner, she almost ran to the kitchen. What had she started? Oh dear God in heaven, what the hell had she started? She was so afraid of her younger son, she was beyond relieved to have her husband in the house with her.

That alone told her just how bad things really were.

'Please, Phillip, I've never asked you anything about your work before, but please tell me what's going down. I can sense that something is different.'

Phillip Murphy looked at his wife, clearly weighing up how much to reveal. It annoyed her more than she believed possible. Her new-found interest in everything pertaining to the businesses and the boys was getting a bit wearing as far as her husband was concerned, but she didn't care. She had to know.

He shrugged suddenly, as if he had decided something very serious, and said, 'Someone is coming to pick up the guns. Now, can we drop it, Christine, please? You know I don't like to discuss things like this, especially with you. What's come over you lately, mate? You're either stoned on the pills the doctor gave you, or you're following me around like a fucking puppy. Is something bothering you, Christine? Because if it is, you only have to tell me and I'll sort it for you.'

She felt the urge to laugh out loud; he was starting to sound like Florence, her therapist of old. And, like Florence, she could just see his face if she told him what was actually on her mind. Phillip didn't even come into the equation any more – in fact, she could cope with him, and since the shooting he had been really good. It was the boys that were sending her off her head.

Her Philly didn't even guess there was anything untoward going on with his brother, and that was the most frightening thing.